The Afternoon Sun on The Midnight Moon
by Lover of Angelus
Summary: Bruce Wayne threw his head back and laughed. It was one of the most beautiful sounds Clark had ever heard. So, with glass in hand, Clark began to hunt down the source of that wondrous sound. BruceClark


**Title**: The Afternoon Sun on The Midnight Moon

**Disclaimer**: Me no own, You no sue

**Warning**: ClarkBruce slashieness

-z-

Throwing his head back, Bruce Wayne laughs. It was loud and without any hint of hesitation or falsity.

It was one of the most beautful sounds Clark Kent had ever heard. He cocks his head to the side and follows it. He swishes the wine around in his glass, stuffs a hand in the pocket of his slacks, and continues to prowl the ballroom, searching for that elusive sound.

When he spots his prey, Clark leans against the wall and observes. He takes a sip and watches Bruce flirt shamelessly with some aristrocrat's daughter. She's smiling wide, all teeth and expensive perfume. Bruce looks down at her with puppy eyes, briefly touching her forearm as he begins a story.

Clark listens to the man's voice, the story is a lie and Clark is amazed at how well Bruce hides all the usual signs. The man was a brilliant actor. Going to take another sip and finding all his wine gone, Clark scows at his glass and sets it on a passing tray a waiter is carrying.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne," Clark clears his throat and taps the slightly shorter man on the shoulder.

Bruce doesn't jump like Clark expects him to, instead he turns slightly and catches Clark's gaze, something akin to gratitude in those light blue depths.

"Yes?" Bruce lifts an eyebrow.

"Do you remember me?" Clark tilts his head to the side. "We met at the opening of Mr. Gray's surgical center. I'm Clark Kent, from the Daily Planet?"

"Yes!" Bruce exclaims, extending his hand to grasp Clark's in a firm - very, very firm - handshake. He turns his whole body to face the reporter's, ignoring the woman's silent horror as he questions, "How've you been, Mr. Kent?"

"Not too bad," Clark flashes his reporter/charmer smile. "I was actually just on my way out, but I didn't want to leave without telling you what a wonderful party this was."

"Well, Mr. Kent, I'm afraid that's just not gonna work," Bruce shook his head slowly, looking the reporter up and down. "Nope, you're simply too drunk to go anywhere."

Clark raised an eyebrow, "I've had one drink."

Bruce nodded emphatically as he threw an arm around Clark's shoulders, "Yeah, I'm afraid you're gonna just have to stay here and sleep it off."

"Wha-?"

"Alfred!" Bruce looked around briefly before catching sight of the familiar shock of gray hair of his butler.

Alfred turned and began to walk over to his master. "Sir?"

"Prepare a room for this fine-"

"That's not necessary," Clark waved his hands.

"Mr. Kent, I'm afraid I can't let you back out onto the streets this inabriated," Bruce grabbed Clark by shoulders and shook him slightly, as if trying to talk some sense into him.

"I think you're the one who's had too much to drink, Mr. Wayne," Clark smiled.

Bruce curled his lips in disgust. "Cut out that _Mr. Wayne_ crap, please? My name is Bruce."

"Clark," they shook hands, laughing.

"Well, _Clark_," Bruce let the name roll off his tongue as he put his hands in his pockets, "please stay for a bit longer, I'd love to chat."

Clark smirked and listened to the playboy's heart speed up a little with exhiliration, as if he had just started a hunt of his own. This could get interesting.

"Okay," Clark sighed.

Bruce grabbed two wine glasses from a passing waiter he handed one to Clark. "Cheers," he said, cheesy grin in place.

"Cheers," Clark echoed, clinking thier glasses and suddenly becoming aware of just how enticing Bruce Wayne could be.

-

Bruce Wayne woke up the next morning to a pounding headache and a warm body next to him. A warm body that was actually like a furnace with as much heat as it was putting off.

Wary of how much light his eyes could take, he opened them a crack and peered cautiously out of his periphereal. He hoped it wasn't that damned beaurcrat's daughter. He really shouldn't have drank that much last night, but that damned woman wouldn't stop pestering him and it was the only way he could tolerate her without strangling her.

Wait.

That was definately not the chest of a woman.

Ooh. Things were definately looking up in Bruce's world as he eyed the sleeping form of Clark Kent.

The reported shifted slightly, eyelids fluttering open and a pair of light blue-grey eyes tore right through him.

"Uh," Clark opened his mouth and Bruce couldn't stop the laughter that escaped from his throat. Clark flushed a deep crimson. "Oh crap!" Clark suddenly sat up when he caught sight of the very bright sun outside the window.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked, lazily stretching his arms above his head and arching his back off the sheets.

Clark began to drool. "Late for work," he managed, using all his strength to rip his eyes from the hand-shaped bruises on Bruce's hips.

"Don't worry about it," Bruce looked up from under his eye lashes, catching Clark off guard as he grabbed the bigger man by the wrists. "Your boss owes me a favor," Bruce was grinning like a mad man now as he pulled Clark closer, nuzzling the palm of his hands. "You can stay as long as you want."

"I have work to do," Clark's argument was valid, his voice however was wavering and he stuttered over his words as Bruce ran his tongue along the underside of the finger.

"Don't worry about it," Bruce said again, tugging hard on Clark's wrists, causing the bigger man to fall on top of him.

"Okay," Clark growls around Bruce's tongue.

-z-


End file.
